Before the Invitation
by Yeahsureyoubetcha
Summary: A chance meeting in the commissary leads to some unintended revelations . . . set just prior to 'Nemesis'.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Stargate SG-1_ or any of its characters.

**Warning! May contain spoilers for Season 3's episode 'One Hundred Days'**

**Author's Note: **Basically this is my attempt to explain how O'Neill went from the experience during 'One Hundred Days' to asking Carter on that infamous fishing trip in 'Nemesis'. It developed as sort of an expansion on a theme that I touched on EVER so briefly in a previous fic ('Back to Black and White') - and when I say briefly I do mean briefly! Subtle, though it was, however, it served to intrigue my muse and this is the result. Also I suppose I should warn you that this is my first attempt at writing a strictly 'shippy' story. It's nothing outlandishly romantic, and nothing that would conflict with the canon of the show (J/S wise), but still . . . just thought I would warn you.

That said I have taken a slight liberty with canon in that in my reality O'Neill and Laira never spent the night together. Laira asked, they kissed, Jack was severely tempted, but in the end decided he still wasn't ready. As for Laira placing her hands on her stomach, well that was just a wistful gesture on her part thinking about what might have been, as opposed to what was. I know I'm stretching here, but this notion makes my muse happy so . . .

**A Note of Thanks: **I'd like to give a huge shout out to my wonderful 'un-official' but always there for me beta, judybear236! You are amazing girl, thank you so, so much for all that you do!

**Time frame:** Takes place prior to Season 3's 'Nemesis' (hence after 'One Hundred Days')

**Genre:** Friendship / Romance (J/S in nature) / and a certain amount of Angst

* * *

Major Samantha Carter glared at the mass of uncooperative, and thus far non-functioning, technology in front of her. For the umpteenth time, she ran down a mental checklist of the machine's operating system and tried to pinpoint what could be wrong. Mile long words and equally long equations flowed through her mind as she considered every detail. Her thoughts came in rapid succession and were processed with lightning fast accuracy. Unfortunately, in the end, these efforts proved futile.

Standing up with a huff, Sam flailed her arms in a show of aggravation. "Fer crying out loud . . . work already!" As the sound of her Colonel's pet phrase echoed through the empty lab, Carter grew self-conscious. Pivoting on her heel, she scanned the interior of the work space, confirming that she was indeed still alone. For some reason, the idea that there might have been a witness to her O'Neill-esque outburst was a source of great embarrassment. Finding the room quite vacant, though, the Major exhaled sharply and shook her head. A wry, half-smile then creased her face and she almost laughed.

Grasping a random tool from her work table, Sam began turning it over in her hands. A moment later, she returned the object to its former place with a clank. As she watched it collide against her other accoutrements, Carter heaved a sigh. Glancing at her watch she grimly noted that the time was just after oh five hundred. Only minutes ago it seemed the dial had read eighteen hundred.

"Eleven hours work and not a thing to show for it," she muttered ruefully. After wasting yet another hostile look on the source of all her troubles, Sam came to a momentous, albeit unrelated conclusion . . . she was hungry. Tearing herself away from the still unsolved puzzle, therefore, she exited the lab and headed for the commissary. Maybe focusing on something as mundane as food would help ease her frustration.

A short time later, her destination having been reached, the Major stood frowning at the barren dessert rack. Granted desserts weren't usually in high demand at five o'clock in the morning, but still she had hoped . . . Shrugging in defeat, Sam moved to the front of the serving line and picked up a tray. Choosing an assortment of breakfast foods, she then thanked the server and went looking for a table. The commissary was predominately empty, but there were a few early risers present. Two members of SG-3 could be seen at a nearby table - engrossed in a hushed, though apparently somewhat entertaining, conversation - while deep in a far corner there sat a lone figure with his back to the door. The broad, hunched shoulders, familiar black t-shirt and ill-behaved gray hair instantly made Carter smile. Without a second thought, she began weaving through the maze of tables and chairs in order to reach her CO.

Pausing just shy of her target, the Major suddenly bit her lip. What if the Colonel didn't want to be disturbed? He obviously hadn't picked the farthest, darkest corner because he felt sociable. Perhaps intruding into his private space wasn't the best idea.

"Carter?"

Startled from her thoughts, Sam immediately locked eyes with her Commander. "Sir. Good morning. Ah . . ." Drowning in the awkwardness of the moment, her words suddenly stumbled to a halt.

O'Neill gazed at her patiently, waiting for her to continue, but when the silence persisted he raised an eyebrow. "What was that Major?"

Still floundering, Sam just shook her head. "I'm sorry, Sir. When I saw you here I thought maybe you'd like some company, but I can see you're busy so, I'm sorry, I'll just . . ."

"Ack! Carter," Jack interrupted, capturing his Second with a steady look. A brief moment passed and then he gestured to the single plate decorating his table. "Busy?"

The Major ducked her head and chewed a larger hole in her lip. As the utter ridiculousness of what she had said continued to sink in, Sam struggled against a laugh. Yes, if there was one thing the Colonel was not at this particular minute, it was busy.

O'Neill spied this light of recognition the second it dawned and rose to his feet. With a slim smile, he then extended a hand toward the closest available chair. "Sit," he ordered brusquely. His efforts were rewarded by a true Carter smile and a most dutiful 'Yes, Sir'. Pleased by this reaction, the Colonel nodded and resumed his seat.

Sliding into the proffered chair and feeling much more at ease, Sam casually set about examining her tray. Opting to eat the scrambled eggs first, she pulled out her fork and went to work.

Across the table, Jack smirked indulgently and leaned back to watch his brilliant astrophysicist eat. He always enjoyed watching her eat. It was like witnessing someone execute a well laid battle plan. No movements were ever wasted. Each food article was assessed and consumed in an orderly fashion, with the aid of a carefully chosen utensil that moved in a rhythmic right to left pattern. He was just admiring the ruthless way her fork pierced an unsuspecting piece of egg, when her voice cut into his thoughts.

"So, Sir," Carter began. "What brings you here this morning? I thought you had the weekend off like the rest of SG-1?"

"You mean like you?" O'Neill deflected pointedly. "Last time I checked you were supposed to be on leave today, too . . . as in not here at the Mountain?"

A hint of pink rose onto the Major's cheeks and she nodded. "Yes, Sir. But just before I left yesterday SG-7 brought back this piece of alien technology from P3X-977 that I think is intended to be some sort of power source. I ran a full diagnostic analysis of its components and, Sir, it is absolutely incredible. The strength of the alien aloes contained in the outer casing alone is . . ." Glancing up at this point, Sam paused mid-sentence. Already the eyes of her one man audience had begun to glaze with that 'you're losing me' look, while his head was rapidly sinking onto a propped fist. Smiling apologetically, Carter scooped some eggs onto her fork. "Sorry, Sir."

Jack dismissed these words with a wave of his hand and reached for a spoon. Thus armed he dug the weapon into the sweet snack occupying his plate. Raising an impossibly large bite to his lips, the Colonel opened his mouth wide and enveloped the offering with only a minimal amount of difficulty.

"Sir," Sam questioned in amazement. "Where did you get that cake?"

A closed lip grin met this query and O'Neill continued to work on chewing his enormous helping. Once a sufficient amount of cake had slid down his throat, he replied. "_That_ is confidential, Carter."

Sam leaned in, her eyes bright and a knowing expression on her face. "You bribed the cook, didn't you?"

It was more of a statement of fact rather than an accusation, but Jack pulled an offended look anyway. "Major! Do you really think I would stoop to bribery?"

Lifting one shoulder, Carter continued to smile. "Well, it is cake, Sir."

The Colonel's hurt facade weakened somewhat and he jabbed his spoon once more into the dessert. "Well, you're wrong," he muttered triumphantly.

Nailing her CO with an unrelenting stare, Sam cocked her head to one side and waited. The seconds ticked by, another mouthful of cake was chewed and swallowed, but finally the admission came.

"Okay, it was blackmail if you must know," Jack grumbled, never raising his gaze.

"Don't tell me Arthur forgot to file his D36797 forms - _again_?"

"Yep. The man never learns," O'Neill confirmed with a dramatic sigh.

"Well how can he, Sir, if you never report him?"

The Colonel raised an index finger and his eyes held a knowing glint. "One of these days," he prophesied. "The man is going to be out of dessert _and_without his forms and when that day comes . . ."

"Yes, Sir?"

The still raised index finger drooped slightly in the air and Jack hesitated. "I'll . . . I'll buy him some more flour for his cakes," he mumbled with fallen eyes.

"Yes, Sir," Carter giggled, attempting to focus on her half-eaten breakfast.

Looking up sharply at this unrestrained show of amusement, O'Neill bent toward his Second with an air of desperation. "It's _cake_, Carter," he hissed.

Still snickering, Sam shook her head. "Yes, Sir."

Jack uttered a low groan and began mushing his fork into the remaining hunk of cake. Having bashed it into an unrecognizable heap, he then sectioned off a large portion of icing and shoveled it into his mouth. A second later, the Colonel gave the dessert a disapproving frown and pushed the plate off to one side.

"Sir?" Carter prodded, suddenly growing concerned. Jack O'Neill abandoning cake did not bode well for the future of the galaxy. Unexpectedly dark and awful things must surely be looming on the horizon. "Sir?" she repeated.

Folding his arms on the table and eyeing the Major as though for the first time, Jack knit his brows together. "What?" The single word seemed to indicate that O'Neill had zoned out, retreating into a world of his own, and had lost all touch with the present.

Identifying this inflection at once, Sam felt her worry increase. "Sir, are you okay?"

"Peachy," Jack replied offering a small smile. "Never better."

Carter's forehead wrinkled thoughtfully and she considered how best to continue. That something was bothering her CO was readily apparent, but how to get him to confide in her, though, now that was a mystery. Running her tongue along the inside of one cheek, Sam decided to try the casual, roundabout approach. "So, Colonel, you never said what brought you back here to the base on your day off."

The dark brown eyes flicked downward almost immediately. "Oh, that. No . . . I didn't."

Carter weighed her options. Obviously she had hit upon a sensitive area - i.e. the origin of O'Neill's distraction - but should she press him further or simply retreat? Feeling bold and more than a little curious, Sam recklessly decided to plunge ahead. "Care to share, Sir?" The question was gentle; the tone a well balanced mix of hope and indifference.

For a brief time, the Colonel said nothing, but then, much to his own surprise, he spoke. "I, ah, got permission from Hammond to go off world with SG-3 this morning."

"Oh," Carter lifted an eyebrow, pleased at this forthright answer, and began digging into her oatmeal. "Where are they going, Sir?"

Jack's focus dropped again and he started to mumble.

When the muttering ceased, the Major paused uncertainly. "I'm sorry, Sir. What did you say?"

Snapping his head upward while rubbing at the back of his neck, O'Neill repeated himself, this time more clearly. "P5C-768."

Unconsciously, Sam's jaw tightened and her blue eyes betrayed her almost heart stopping panic. Forcing herself to get a grip, she tried to ignore the empty feeling consuming her chest and keep moving. Skipping her eyes between the Colonel and her oatmeal, she finally managed to respond. "Edora."

The Colonel offered an aggravated nod of confirmation and ground his fingers hard into the nape of his neck. "SG-3 is going there to get some more soil samples," he remarked irrelevantly.

Carter forced a large spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and tried to swallow the 'and we all know how much you like gathering soil samples' retort quivering on the tip of her tongue.

"And we all know how much I love soil samples," Jack grumbled in a sarcastic tone, seemingly to no one in particular.

His words were not lost on Sam, however, and she choked at the similarity of their trains of thought. A series of uncontrollable coughs soon followed as the Major struggled to keep the mass of partially chewed oatmeal in her mouth. Waving off O'Neill's immediate show of concern, she soon regained control of her breathing. "I'm sorry, Sir," she rasped. "I must have opened my epiglottis."

Still nursing a worried look, Jack frowned. "Your epiglottis?"

"Yes, Sir. It's a flap of cartilage at the root of the tongue, which . . ."

"Carter!" the Colonel snapped. "I know what an epiglottis is. I just find it fascinating that after dang near choking, your brain's first thought still manages to be something that analytical. Why not something simple like, 'my swallower misfired'?"

Sam felt a wave of heat creep up her neck and she resisted the urge to chuckle. "Swallower, Sir?"

A corner of Jack's mouth quirked upward in response and for a moment he allowed himself to enjoy the amusement playing over his Second's features. That his twisted and sometimes irreverent sense of humor could bring her pleasure never ceased to amaze him . . . in fact, it was one of his greatest sources of pride.

The seconds ticked by and for a time neither officer spoke. Eventually, though, Carter's mind reverted to their previous line of conversation. In truth, she didn't want to discuss Edora, but for some reason she felt compelled to again broach the subject.

"So - soil samples, eh Sir?"

Breaking eye contact, Jack retrieved his previously abandoned slice of cake. Using his fork to further disfigure the dessert, he suddenly grew distant. It was as if Sam, the commissary and awareness of all that was the SGC had vanished from his consciousness.

Caught off guard by her CO's instant recession, Carter once more found herself debating how to proceed. She had just concluded that the best option would be a radical change of topic, when O'Neill began to talk. His voice was low and disconnected, almost as though he were addressing someone that wasn't even there, but he was talking.

"When I heard that the Stargate on Edora was . . . gone, I," Jack's sentence trailed off and he scrubbed a hand through his hair. Lines appeared along his forehead and his eyebrows knit tightly as he struggled against the memory. Forcing his tense muscles to relax, the Colonel abruptly leapt forward in his narrative. "I tried for . . . well, for a long time, to find the 'Gate, but I couldn't. I didn't want to give up, but after so much time I just . . ." Again, O'Neill's sentence ground to a halt and his frustration became even more evident. Gradually, though, this irritation began to fade and when he resumed speaking, the story had once more been rushed along. "Laira cared for me - welcomed me into her home. She kept me sane. When I thought I'd lost everything, she and Garren gave me a reason to keep moving." Jack pressed his arms onto the table and humphed wistfully. "Life there was so simple. After a while the day to day routine started to feel normal. It felt . . . safe. It wasn't until the rescue came and I was headed back to Earth that I realized just how much I had grown to depend on that sense of stability. Always having Laira and Garren to come home to had grounded me. When I felt that slipping away, it was like getting trapped all over again."

Carter forced herself to inhale a slow breath. A shaky exhale soon followed and she began blinking furiously. "I, I'm sorry, Sir. When we lost you, I . . ." Clamping her eyelids shut for a long moment, Sam pushed down the sudden tide of emotions rising within her. Once the assault had been stifled to a certain extent, she then continued. "I guess we never stopped to think that maybe you didn't want to come back to us, Sir."

Despite hearing her words, Jack found himself incapable of answering. As Daniel had quite adeptly pointed out on numerous occasions, 'talking' was not one of O'Neill's strong points.

Met with this display of utter silence, the Major swallowed convulsively. "You . . . you could retire, Sir, and . . . go back." The suggestion stung as it left her throat and she struggled to keep her voice even. She had worked so hard to get him back from Edora; and after spending three months without Colonel Jack O'Neill in her life there was one thing she knew : never did she want to live without him again. That being said, Sam also knew she wanted him to be happy - and if that meant returning to Edora, and Laira . . .

"I can't."

The simple, quiet words almost failed to register amid Carter's swirling thoughts. As they eventually began to sink in, though, the Major found herself reeling in confusion. "What? Why?"

Jack's long fingers tightened about his arms and his head bowed, this time in resignation. "Because I don't belong there. I never did. That's why a part of me never really let go of all this." Lifting his eyes and gesturing vaguely about, O'Neill purposely avoided his second in command's gaze. "The moment I heard Teal'c's voice, I knew." A soft, rueful smile played across his lips. "Heck, I knew even before then, I just couldn't admit it. I belong here." Connecting his deep brown optics with Carter's questioning blue ones, the Colonel's expression grew even more serious. "That's why I have to go back now."

"To tell Laira?"

A short nod met this query and the eyes started to wander. "She deserves someone who can live in her world, with her people. Someone who can love her with his whole heart. I can't do that."

At this unexpected and intimate admission, Sam's pulse quickened. Summoning her remaining will power to ensure that her voice didn't waver, she then spoke. "Why not, Sir?"

Without a word, Jack immediately locked eyes with his astrophysicist. His gaze was filled with an uncharacteristically raw intensity that seemed to increase the longer he stared. Though the rest of his face remained emotionless, he made no attempt to conceal the feelings running freely through his dark chocolate orbs.

An inaudible gasp escaped Carter's lips at this candid glimpse into her Commanding Officer's soul. The longing, the admiration, the love, the heartache . . . all directed at her - _for_ her. Not for Laira, but for her, Major Samantha Carter United States Air Force. The immensity of the unspoken declaration literally floored Sam and she found herself fighting to breath. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the look was gone. The protective, professional barrier fell across his eyes, as it was wont to do, and all openness was gone. Just as the Major was beginning to question what she had seen, one of the members of SG-3 strode toward their table.

"Excuse me, Sir?"

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Jack asked, his attention never drifting from Carter.

"Colonel Reynolds requested I inform you that SG-3 will be embarking in fifteen minutes, Sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Dismissed." As the young officer began to retreat, O'Neill's internal shield again slipped, just a fraction this time, and he addressed his Second. "You know, Carter, I never did thank you for finding a way to save my sorry mitka back there."

The subtle tenderness of his gaze was enough to reassure Sam that all she had glimpsed before, had in fact been real. This small confirmation sent a warm pulse through her cheeks. Averting her eyes, which she just knew were alight with a ridiculous teenage-girl-twinkle, she lifted one shoulder. "Anytime, Sir."

Jack nodded in acknowledgement and executed a gentle smile. "Yes, well, I owe you one . . . maybe even two."

Carter grinned. "You keeping score, Sir?"

"No, but Teal'c is," he quipped brightly. "My mistake. I told him to get a hobby."

"Yes, Sir."

Hearing the strain of un-laughed giggles lacing this reply, O'Neill tried to look stern. "No snickering at your superiors, Major," he ordered pushing away from the table.

"Yes, Sir. Have a safe trip."

"Thank you, Carter."

With that the two officers separated.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later in the 'Gate room . . .

All of SG-3 accompanied by a handful of scientists stood gathered at the foot of the ramp. As O'Neill made his way through the side door, Colonel Reynolds called out a greeting.

"Good morning, Jack! You ready to head out?"

The Colonel waved a hand in lieu of any official verbal salutation and nodded. "Dial it up."

"Sergeant - you heard the man," Reynolds ordered with a signal to Walter.

"Yes, Sir. Stand by."

Glancing towards the dutiful Sergeant, Jack caught himself on the verge of a smile. For there, standing just to Harriman's right, was Carter. She appeared slightly hesitant at first, but upon catching his gaze, she offered the barest of nods. Moving toward the microphone, she then spoke a word of encouragement.

"Good luck, Sirs."

"Oh, yes," Reynolds drawled. "Good luck . . . with soil samples." Sending a disdainful glance towards the group of hovering scientists, he sighed. "You know, I still don't know why you wanted to come along, Jack. Not that I'm complaining mind you, but," leaning closer and dropping his voice, the Marine continued. "I didn't think you really went in for chaperoning scientific field trips."

"I don't," O'Neill answered simply. "But there's someone on Edora waiting to see me."

"Ah, a social visit, then. Must be somebody pretty special for you to travel a few thousand light years just to say 'hello'."

One of the many science geeks raised a finger at this remark, mouth poised to correct the Marine's concept of space and distance between Earth and P5C-768. Upon receiving a threatening look from the Commander, however, he wisely reconsidered.

Once this little interaction was complete, Reynolds again turned his attention to Jack. Lifting an expectant eyebrow, he waited for some sort of reply.

O'Neill smiled almost imperceptibly. "Actually, I'm not going to say 'hello' . . ." At this juncture, the Colonel paused, his attention shifting to a certain blonde Major standing in the Control room. "I'm going to say 'good-bye'."

A thunderous whoosh, preceded by Walter's classic 'Chevron Seven is locked', then sounded announcing the establishment of a wormhole.

Reynolds allowed this interruption to derail his investigation into Jack's obviously personal interplanetary affairs and moved up the ramp with a shrug. "SG-3, move out! Science guys, stay close and remember: if you go wandering don't wander alone!"

Jack grinned as he half-listened to this directive and strode toward the event horizon. Throwing a quick look over his shoulder, he made eye contact with Carter one last time before stepping into the wormhole.

* * *

A few minutes later, found Sam entering her lab. The alien device she'd abandoned earlier still sat in all of its dysfunctional grandeur on the table and she sighed. Upon moving closer to the work bench, however, her interest was soon piqued by a small, mysterious cardboard box. It sat on the corner of her work station and had most certainly not been there prior to her trip to the commissary. With a quizzical frown, she approached the container. Straining to see over its edge, her lips soon parted in an uncontrollable grin and she started to giggle. For there, within the confines of the package, lay a serving of blue jello, complete with spoon. A note was also present, jammed rather unceremoniously between the cardboard and the dessert glass. It was scrawled in the Colonel's familiar handwriting and simply read:

_"I'll report him next time. J."_

* * *

**THE END**

Well there it is . . . Like I said this is my first attempt at pure 'ship' so let me know what you think. My other fic's have been more or less friendship based. If you think I should abandon shippy romance and return to my 'first calling' as a writer please feel free to tell me. I won't take offense I promise! As always reviews, comments and or suggestions are more than welcome (and eagerly anticipated!). Thanks for reading!

**Addendum:** Okay so after finalizing this little piece I went to check out the latest postings in the Stargate fandom. The first one I read was Niss Trah's fantastically good 'Everywhere but the room' (if you haven't read it yet you're missing out!). I guess because we all know these characters so well our minds just run on same wave-length or something, though, because while I swear this piece was entirely written prior to my reading Niss Trah's story, the whole 'O'Neill dessert bashing' scenarios are freakishly similar!

Also the second story I read was the latest installment of midnightread's 'Run, Run as Fast as You Can' which of all things was centered around the episode 'One Hundred Days'!

As I've already stated, though, I promise this fic was complete prior to my reading either of these stories and no 'idea snatching' was intended. Like I mentioned in the Author's Note above, my muse has actually been nursing this one-shot for quite a while, taking its inspiration from a line in one of my own previous stories. Hope this clears up any doubts or confusion. And again thanks for reading!


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